Monsoon
by mimidi
Summary: Set between the Whitebeard War and Punk Hazard. Life is not kind to Akainu - Garp hates him, nurses are fraternizing with the enemy and the suicidal new admiral and her many relatives are most likely up to something. And he does not appreciate being used as a lighter. Now with special guest stars, Chthulhu and the Red Haired Pirates. No, really.
1. The Monsoon

When she had first touched the water, the _Monsoon _had been – the best word for it would be standard issue. A typical Class 3 destroyer, from the Marine flag to the itchy blankets to the table in the chartroom that although looked new and sturdy, it was doomed to fall apart in about three weeks and establish itself as the bane of the future ship carpenter's life.

But she had passed plenty of water since then.

Four captains had left her, two for a watery grave at the bottom of the sea, one for bigger and better things and one for a well deserved retirement in the company of her many grandchildren. The ship had already begun to creak and moan with age when her current captain had first set foot aboard, a skinny, sickly little girl who looked like a stiff breeze would knock her over.

And again, she had passed a lot of water since then.

Glancing around the deserted deck of the _Monsoon_, Rear Admiral Adreen felt a chill crawling up her spine and inhaled deeply. Unfortunately, that filled her lungs with smoke and she hastily plucked the cigarette from her mouth and coughed. "Dee?" she rasped. The mast creaked ominously and she gnashed her teeth. It was actually and bright and sunny day, the blue sea sparkling merrily. How the hell did this god-damned wreck manage to give her the creeps? No wonder it was being scrapped.

"Dee?" she said again. A sniffling answered from behind the mast. Adreen took off in that direction a little faster than she would have liked, and stopped a few feet in front of it. A thick iron bar held it together because a few years ago some pirate or other had nearly torn it away at the base; most of its surface was covered in scrawlings of names, plants, crude mermaids and anchors and even a pizza. And sure enough, Dian was there, leaning against it and looking at her feet with red-rimmed eyes.

The Rear Admiral straightened herself, adding another few inches to her already daunting height; her back started to ache almost instantly. "Dee," she started. "You read the inspection report. You can't…"

"Fuck you."

"Ah. Yes. Well. I'm afraid you don't have a choice. You have to return to Marineford at once, Fleet Admiral Sakazuki was…" "Sakazuki can go fuck himself. I'm not going anywhere." "For the love of God, Dee! This ship it falling apart as it stands, you can't do anything with it! You need a new one, so you will go to Marineford and move yourself, your men and your stuff on to the _Blue Dawn_"! "I don't wanna!" her cousin yelled/sobbed at her, her fists clenched. Behind the thick lenses of her glasses, Dee's eyes were blazing and Adreen felt the sudden flare of _haki_ like a dizzying blow to the back of her head, making her reel slightly. She rubbed her temples with a pained groan, her shoulders dropping into their habitual slouch. On the plus side, Dee seemed to deflate. "Bill!" she shouted. The first mate popped out of nowhere, with a glass of water to boot. The sobbing and choked sighs subsided, and an aspirin was pushed into Adreen's hand. "We're going to Marineford, Bill. We're going to…change ships." With that she left them, no second glance or a word for her cousin, who crunched the aspirin and then vanished with a flare of _haki_ of her own. But this time nobody clutched their head in pain, because that was Vice-Admiral Dian's special little trick.

The _Monsoon_'s sails unfolded as her deck exploded into motion and she lurched away from the _Cassiopeia_ like a scraggly duck crippled with bad arthritis. Adreen could almost see Dian at the helm, not so much steering as leaning on the battered wheel and swaying left and right like a drunk and humming tunelessly all the while, and glaring painful death at anyone who dared to come close. Well, anyone except Bill. She sighed and lit a fresh cigarette, which she used to direct her own crew to get a move on. The sails unfurled with a snap and the sleek _Cassiopeia _in turn headed towards Marineford.

Fleet Admiral Sakazuki glared at the prone figure on the bed, so much so that his fist started smoking. A nurse in crisp white uniform, with shining auburn hair and clear blue eyes cleared her throat slightly and the man turned to glare at Law instead. They were in Marineford, so why couldn't they have found a proper, _Marine_ doctor was beyond him. And that was a large part of the problem, overshadowing even the fact that the freshly-appointed Admiral Negura had tried to kill herself. Again, even. He turned towards the nurse, trying very hard to look calm but only managing to look constipated. "Well?" he asked. The woman immediately shushed him. "Admiral Negura's condition is stable now. We thought it wise to keep her under sedation until her family arrives. That would be, Vice-Admiral Dian, who is her sister, and Read Admiral Adreen, their cousin. And a Mr. Christian, another cousin. Ah, Vice Admiral Garp. So nice of you! It will do her good to see fresh flowers when she wakes up. I'll just put them in a bowl of water, shall I?" the nurse smiled slightly and took the large bouquet of peonies from him, exiting through a back door. It suddenly occurred to Sakazuki that the silence wasn't all that necessary. Trafalgar Law stood, placed the clipboard he'd been holding in its hook at the foot of the bed and left silently. Through the open door the two Marines caught a glimpse of Boa Hancock moving in to question the doctor. Garp took a seat at the foot of the bed, his large hand straightening an errant strand of chestnut hair with gentleness the Fleet Admiral hadn't thought him capable of, and an air of I-don't-want-to-talk-go-the-fuck-away that forced a rare spark of social intelligence into the Red Dog's brain and thus he swiftly left the room, if not very quietly.

The old man ignored him, or maybe he just hadn't heard. Some said that sleeping people looked peaceful, beautiful even. The woman on the bed looked, for lack of a better word, dead. Normally she was quite beautiful, but it wasn't the Boa Hancock kind, which came from regularity of feature or the exquisite shape of the bone. It was the kind that came from the play of emotion and the life which in her was like the tension that keeps a wire straight. Without the flush of nervous vitality, she was a sick person, who wouldn't get a second glance in a room with twenty others. Her face had a yellowish tinge and there were purple shadows under her eyes and around her temples. Her normally round face was drawn and haggard, the cheekbones jutting out. Her mouth was set in frown. _Get off your ass and turn that frown upside down, _Garp thought, feeling older than ever.

_There is a lot of nothing and, they say, silence is golden. That's because it's one of the few things that can be seen, shimmering like the space dust gathering for the making of a star. Silence should not be chased away with words or screams, no matter how badly you would like one. _

_One good, long scream, like a banshee announcing the death of an entire world. _

_A scream that rips the throat apart, so everyone can see the pulsing heart lodged in the trachea so that each beat is a battle with a breath. Because that's what it would be like, living like you are dying._

_That is the moment when the pain should give way to restless anger, when breaking things and crying simply would not do and you would pace and pace and pace, fingers twisting spasmodically and each sob burning the lungs. _

_Then the legs give._

_Then you would cry, cry, and then cry some more._

_But that would mean no more of the golden light of silence. Take a deep breath. _

When Negura woke up, Dian and Adreen were standing by the window. Dian's lips were moving soundlessly to her song, and Adreen's fingers were twitching without her customary cigarette. In a corner, a large lump covered in a patchwork blanket snored loudly. She smiled, remembering the many sleepless nights when that snoring, muffled by several wooden walls, had been her only companion. She stood up, leaning against the headboard. The girls hurried by her side, getting ready for the what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking speech, or maybe the how-are-you-feeling-you-know-you-can-talk-to-us one, but all she wanted to do was laugh. Preferably in Sakazuki's face.

"Should we wake him up?" Adreen said.

"Not yet. How are you guys?"

Adreen looked like she would like to shake her and yell that she shouldn't be asking that, she should tell them how _she_ was, because you tried to kill yourself you crazy bitch, but restrained herself.

"They're scrapping my ship" Dian said.

"I'm sorry, sis."

"So am I."

"It's probably for the best, you know. It's falling apart. You would have ended up at the bottom of the sea at the first storm."

"I can swim."

"Bill can't."

"Can you at least make sure it doesn't end up as firewood?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"She'll do it."

"Yeah. Let's go get some pizza, I'm starving."

"Dee's treat. She has the best cook, I've always thought, and he'll want to give the shiny new kitchen of the _Blue Dawn_ a go."

"Won't you talk to the Fleet Admiral first?"

"Fuck'm. Wake up, Garp."

The old man snorted and shifted, but didn't wake up. "There's food involved," Negura said a little louder, to no avail. "Let him be, sis. He's been awake for two days". "I'll make up to him later with my special stew and curry fries, then. Let's go."

They ran into Sakazuki just outside the base.

"You're up, I see."

"Yes."

"We're going to have some pizza on my new ship. She hasn't eaten in a while."

"Ah, good." He didn't mention whether it was good that Dian had decided to relinquish her rotten old wreck or that Negura was well enough to want food. Adreen straightened, pulled out a cigarette and invaded his personal space. "So you see, all's well, sir" she said holding out the cancer stick. The man lit it with a flick of his finger and a grimace. "So we'll on our way. A few hours of family time, just like the doctor ordered."

"How soon will you be fit for duty?"

"Give her a break, will you?" Adreen grabbed hold of his chin, forcing him to look away from Negura and into her eyes. "These things take time."

"There is a serious disturbance on an island. I need to send an Admiral to deal with it."

"Send Borsalino, then."

"I'll send Fujitora."

"Thanks. You're a doll."

"Yeah, whatever."

The three headed for the docks with sparse conversation about various relatives and people from their village – mainly, who was getting married, who was having children and who was going to jail. They stopped in front of the hulking form of the _Monsoon. _Dian's shoulders tensed. She had grown up on the ship, after all (the old captain, a friend of the family, had said that the salty air would do wonders for her frail constitution). The creaking wood had seen her through violent bouts of pneumonia and fever, though that one moment when her tired lungs had been close to losing the battle and the world had flickered away into darkness. _And look at you now_, she seemed to say. Dian straightened her shoulders and swept her long, sandy hair back. All the battles this ship had won. All the time they had sat as a crew on its deck, battered, bleeding but alive and determined to stay that way. She burst into tears and her cousin draped her arm over her shoulders.

"Let's go," she said with finality. In respectful silence they headed towards the _Blue Dawn._

**Uhm. Hello. This story was prompted by too much Counter Monkey (go the Youtube and give it a watch if you love fantasy and RPG's) and my sister's unwillingness to let go of her ratty old Tokio Hotel tee. As such I created Dian with her confusion and headache-inducing haki in deference to my sister having Down syndrome. Admiral Negura is based on my own experience with depression. And the mysterious Mr. Christian is my cousin. When I outlined the character I took all his annoying traits and replaced them with some of his wife's better ones. Thus I created RoboBond. Keep reading, he'll start talking eventually. **


	2. The Baba Novak

In the galley of the _Baba Novak_, Admiral Negura studiously avoided eye contact with the old man seated at the table across from where she was peeling boiled potatoes. A pot bubbled away on the stove, spreading an enticing smell, and a batch of pumpkin cupcakes were cooling well out of Garp's reach.

He studied her with far more attention she had ever given him credit for. She knew for a fact that he had interrogated every doctor that had had a hand in her treatment (but not the nurses. Not even Garp the Fist could intimidate the perpetually-smiling demons in white), had ransacked her rooms, made a list everything even remotely medicine-like which Trafalgar Law had been forced to explain and had even gotten hold of Mr. Christian's DenDenMushi – how the fuck did _that_ happen? Chris must be losing his touch, she decided. And then there had been the monster row with Kuzan. She could feel her blood pressure rising at the mere thought of it. Trust Garp to make an abusive relationship out of a booze-fueled one night stand from 15 years ago.

The potatoes peeled and sliced, she grabbed the large onion and a larger knife and began chopping it slowly – she had never mastered the art of speed-chopping. Her eyes started to sting and she wiped at them with her sleeve. She blinked fast and fanned her face.

"You alright?"

"Yes. It's the onion."

She sniffled. Now her nose was running, and her eyes stung worse than ever. She stopped and scrunched them shut, breathing deeply. She could feel Garp hovering about, concern twisting his features. He shouldn't have that look on his face, he should be laughing, having fun, and stop worrying about her sorry self. He had done so much already – late night training sessions when unwarranted dark thoughts wouldn't let her sleep, countless repetitions of the same move that was executed progressively worse, covering for her when she couldn't leave her bed for days at a time for no physical reason… she wiped viciously at her eyes and stepped away from the onion. She had done a pitiful job. The bits were horribly uneven. They would send any self-respecting cook into fits of hysteria. Oh well. She put the frying pan on the stove and threw in some cumin seeds. She added the onions and stirred slowly. "Get me that pack of curry powder, will you?"

The bright orange pack was dutifully place on the work surface next to the stove. "And the Garam Masala. The little glass jar." Again, it appeared at her elbow. She seasoned the onion and added the boiled potatoes. She swore when an overenthusiastic turn of the wooden spoon sent orange potatoes scattering over the gleaming stove. She gathered them hastily and threw them in the pot containing the potato peels. "Chilli powder," she said. Again, the blurred movement but this time she was ready. Her hand shot out and grabbed a firm hold of his wrist. "You didn't steal anything." Indeed, all the cupcakes, which would normally be a target for the ever-hungry man, were untouched. "I know it's hard to act normal after… after the latest incident. But I won't break. Don't worry." She couldn't see his eyes. His fists clenched.

"That's what you said last time."

"I know." Tears were welling in her eyes. "I don't mean to do it, Garp. I don't want to be this way. I just can't help it. It's my brain. It's all wrong."

_I'm all wrong._

She turned off the stove and took the lid of the stew pot. "Ok," she said with shuddering sigh. "Grab a plate." But he didn't move; instead, he wrapped his thick arms around her so tightly her lungs were hard-pressed to supply her with the needed oxygen. He placed his chin on her head and said nothing. She had no answer to that.

Kuzan looked up expressionlessly as a figure in white dropped from the sky and a gloved fist smashed through the seastone cuffs. Boulders were flying overhead and the figure – he was pretty sure it had been a woman – had left already, punching her way towards the cult leader. He winced as Garp the Fist followed in her wake. No amount of chanting and mind-control could save him now. He moved his hands weakly and the cuffs crumbled away. He pulled himself up slowly. No need to rush and interrupt the fun of either Garp or his gaggle of mini-Garps, currently busy breaking bones and shattering skulls with bare hands. Sure, they had their regulation swords and daggers, but nobody bothered to actually use them. "Hey, what's this?" One of them had found the cult leader's scrolls. "Let me see." The boy moved aside and a girl, apparently the smarter of the bunch, bent over the fragile artifacts. Kuzan decided it was time to start moving. He cleared his throat. "Be careful with… Damn." Smarter, but not by much. She had grabbed them and they had crumpled to dust; not only that, but a convenient gust of wind swept the remains all over the cavern. "Ooopsie," she said. "Were they important?" "Don't worry about it, girl. You go see to Todd, one o' the bastards got lucky. I'll take care o' the frosty twerp." The girl smirked in Kuzan's direction before jumping over the altar and heading towards a boy who was leaning against a wall looking rather green. "Now we'll never know," the ice user muttered. "Wha? That poneglyph business again?" "That strictly secret business, Vice Admiral," Kuzan answered tartly. The old man burst out laughing. "If you say so." Kuzan pressed his lips into a tight line. He could feel the girl's eyes on him, even through the stone of the altar. He kicked a small statue of a monstrous octopus man with gusto; it flew away but didn't shatter. It lay in the dust, watching him evilly with its black stone eyes.

Garp finally relinquished his hold on her when footsteps approached the galley. The door burst open and Adreen stormed in in a dark mood, plopping down in a chair and demanding a large number of calories. Garp sat next to her. "What happened?" "That fucking idiot! All about his idiotic New Era and New World this, New World that, and not stopping once to think that it's his duty – his god-damned duty! to ensure the safety of the people in the Four Blues! And…"

"Aren't you overreacting? He wouldn't let the people without defense."

"As good as! No, something has to be done! Ever heard of Valentine?"

"A pirate?"

"Yes, a pirate. Valentine, the Grey Wolf, basically owns West Blue."

"Never heard o'him," Garp interjected in-between mouthfuls.

"It's a her."

"A 'she'. The correct phasing is 'it's a she'".

"Whatever. Question is, what are we going to do about it?"

"I think we should wait. Maybe she'll come to the Grand Line, like every other pirate who's worth something."

"She's worth something, all right. 150 mil."

Negura shrugged. "Not bad, I guess. Well, we should go see what Sakazuki has to say about it. But not before dessert."

While her cousin and her mentor tucked into the stew and fries, the Admiral carefully unwrapped the paper of a cupcake, tore a piece and popped it into her mouth, deep in thought. The Grey Wolf. She smiled slightly - that kind of strange quirk of a corner of her puckered lips that sent enemies and subordinates scurrying like rats on a sinking ship.

**Cthulhu, I think, is like the color beige. Goes with anything. Also, Baba Novak was a famous general a long, long time ago.**


	3. The Fang and The Mirabelle

_The steady tick-tock of the timer resounded in the silent room. Two people were seated on the floor, staring at the half-empty chessboard between them. Clothes lay strewn around them, as did a few empty wine bottles. The air was suffocating, despite the heroic efforts of the ceiling fan. The woman pressed her knuckles into her burning cheeks. She hadn't thought this one through. At all. She hadn't taken into account the heat wave which had forced her into far less clothes to begin with and didn't allow for her chunky costume jewelry which always came handy in situations like these. Not that she often played strip chess. More that she didn't. And she had seriously underestimated her opponent, who stared at the board with a slight smile, apparently without a care in the world. He smirked widely and took her other knight, looking at her almost innocently. She gnashed her teeth and took a sip of her glass. A few drops of red wine dribbled down her chin and she wiped at them furiously, missing the way the man's dark eyes followed their movement. She squared her shoulders. Well, she thought viciously, let's see you win now, you bastard. Slowly, she unhooked her bra and slipped it off. She bit her lip to stave off laughter. It was one of those laws-of-physics-defying bras that was padded like a bulletproof vest. It made his eyes widen slightly. Without a word, he lashed at her, crushing her against his bare chest as he claimed her lips with bruising force._

"Hey, Benn," Liz murmured against his chest. "Hmmm?" "Do you remember that one time? With the strip-chess?" "Hmmm." "Do you remember the last layout of the board?" "Not really. But I know I would have won." Liz didn't answer. She knew he was probably right.

The door opened with a clang and, in a flurry of cheerfulness and sunshine, Red-Haired Shanks burst into the room. Benn nimbly shifted Liz between him and the wall and pulled the blanked over them. True to form, Shanks threw himself onto the bed without a care in the world. "May I help you?" she deadpanned. "Yes," the captain answered cheekily. "Run over to the East Blue and…" "No." "Well, I tried." Benn lit a cigarette, looking pointedly at his friend. His pointed look was lost on him, though. "I wanted to talk to Liz about what exactly prompted Old Wolfie to take a leaf out of Whitebeard's – may-he-rest-in-peace - book." Liz bit her lip.

The pirate captain Valentine, known throughout West Blue as the Grey Wolf, wasn't one of those newfangled super rookies because she wasn't a rookie. She had been a pirate for 34 years, from cabin girl to captain, and had managed to keep her existence a secret for the better part of 20 of those. She and her crew were very nondescript – not the faces likely to be remembered. And they were sneaky. They could disguise themselves like nobody's business and could, and in fact had, stolen things out of the pockets of various Marine high-ranking officers. They were the epitome of stealth, as light on their feet as cats. Their first mate could cloak an entire fleet with her Devil Fruit powers. They believed whole-heartedly in the virtues of information, efficiency and having fall back plans that spanned the length of several alphabets. And they never went in guns blazing (firearms were in fact forbidden aboard the _Fang_) or swords swinging, they snuck very quietly, took most of the valuables and retreated onto their cloaked ship just as discreetly. In the morning an unfortunate watchman would be puking his guts out from the knock-out shot, and the ship would be a little lighter, but hey. The sea is a dangerous place. And that was it – a very nice, peaceful life, filled with just the right amount of excitement - until that one fateful day.

Captain Valentine hadn't removed the calendar on which it was marked, circled in purple ink and red over it. She looked at it a lot more often then she liked to admit. More often than it was healthy for her, probably.

They had been trailing a cruise ship for the not-excessively-wealthy because hidden in its cargo hold were three almost priceless paintings which one of her special friends thought would look just lovely in his office. It was supposed to be an easy job. They were getting ready for the raid, Ellie taking one last sip of coffee before cloaking the ship, when the watchman had dropped from the crow's nest and yelled, "Cloak us now!" before handing Valentine the eyeglass. The invisibility shield covered the _Fang_ and large part of the surrounding sea like a thin layer of gently rippling water. Valentine almost dropped the eyeglass with a gasp. Their target, the _Mirabelle_, was ablaze. A column of thick black smoke rose from it, obscuring the stars and the new moon. Further away she saw a ship departing at great speed. Something moved spasmodically on the deck of the _Mirabelle, _trailing sparks and brilliant orange flames. The woman lowered the instrument and was silent for a moment, fighting back the bile. Then she squared her shoulders, as steadfast as always. "We have to get there. Liz, give us a boost." The shipwright nodded. "25 seconds," she said and vanished. The crew ran to their designated safe spots as the sails and masts retracted swiftly into the body of the ship. Valentine gripped the helm. Next to her, Hans, a tall, broad man gripped the safety rigging with Ellie in front of him, leaning against his chest with closed eyes. She was very short and slight and against him she looked almost like a child. "Brace yourselves!" came a yell. The stars above turned into lines as the ship darted forward like a bat out of hell, propelled by its Jump engines. Wind lashed at them and salt water sprayed at them. Hans moved his arms, leaning forward to cover as much as Ellie as he could. Valentine felt maybe a little envious as she spared them a glance in-between short, swift turns of the helm. The roar of the engines ceased and the momentum carried the _Fang_ all the way to the _Mirabelle._ Hans's large hand squeezed Ellie's shoulder briefly before he dashed for the cargo hold. The girl was already focusing her cloaking into a shield to protect them from the thick smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Already there were crates of extinguisher bombs and Rhee, their cook, had donned a protective asbestos suit. Hans took a bomb and threw it on the deck, in the middle of the inferno but, instead of bursting into a ball of cold gas and smothering the flames, it shot into a column of white-hot fire. Valentine grabbed one of the bombs herself and threw it against their own deck. It did what it was supposed to. They stared at the inferno, at a loss for what to do. For about 5 seconds, anyway, because they were the Grey Wolf pirates. The captain pursed her lips tightly and addressed the ship doctor. The man shook his head sadly. Valentine sighed. "Liz, put the fire out." The shipwright took of her beanie which she handed to a fellow crewmember and disappeared, a stiff breeze following in her wake. Powerful waves rocked the two ships as a tight maelstrom rose from the sea, carrying tons of water and tumbling them on the _Mirabelle_. A loud crack of thunder could be heard, despite the clear sky and Liz appeared again, soaked to the bone, slumping against the doctor who draped her arm across his shoulders and carried her towards the sickbay. Armed with a classic fire extinguisher, Rhee boarded the _Mirabelle _in a flare of haki, soon followed by Hans and Valentine.

When they returned, covered in soot, the smoke had cleared completely but the captain asked Ellie keep the shield as it was. She wiped at her eyes and said, in a hoarse voice: "Lower the flag."

Jason, the navigator, began lowering the Jolly Roger. It was a simple skull and crossbones design, but it was printed with a special duo-chrome paint that shifted from silver to black as the light played across it. When it fluttered in the wind, it faded in and out of sight just like the Grey Wolf pirates did when they meant business.

What was left of the 250 passengers and crew of the _Mirabelle_ could have fit into a bucket. The pirates searched the ship with the patience and care that could have commended the respect of any archeologist or criminologist. They took countless samples, sprayed revealing chemicals, picked up bits of scorched things and put them in numbered bags, photographed every inch and ran it through a fine tooth comb.

They poked a hole in the hull of the ship and watched her sink as Valentine recited a poem with her trademark panama hat under her arm. Nobody knew any prayers. That night after dinner, they held council. Rhee was washing dishes while Valentine, a skilled bartender, dished out drinks more liberally than she ever remembered doing. Liz absentmindedly downed a generous helping of absinthe without tearing her eyes from a sheet of paper filled with small, cramped writing. "Right," she said with a grimace. "Listen up." Rhee wiped her hands and turned, whiskey glass in hand, ice cubes twinkling gently with her movements. Others straightened, watching the shipwright intently. "Me'n'Jay 'n'Doc got everything analyzed. Firstly, I have no idea what accelerant they used to make our extinguisher bomb do what it did. There is no reason to believe that they know what we put in them, but… Anyway, we determined that there was something rather big in the cargo hold that didn't appear on any papers, and nobody – of the crew, that is – knew it was there. A metal box coated with antimagnetic wolfram. And they dumped a big ol' load of phosphorus over the ship before adding the mystery accelerant. Overkill, but effective."

"Antimagnetic wolfram?" Hans asked, his brows furrowed. He leaned forward. "What the hell were they hiding?"

"I don't know," Liz said, extending her glass. Valentine fixed her another drink. The shipwright dragged the glass back. She leaned her cheek on the table and looked thoughtfully at the small flame that slowly consumed the sugar cube. "Also, there is the matter of the ship we saw running away. Pirates, Marines, Revolutionaries or something else?"

"I don't think it was Revolutionaries," Jason said.

"I don't think I know any pirates who are that thorough," Ellie said. _Or that sick._

"Doctor Indigo," somebody said in an almost admonishing tone.

"Ain't he dead?" Rhee said.

"He's dead," Valentine said with finality.

"But then…"

Silence descended among the pirates.

Shanks grabbed one of Liz's hands and studied it carefully. She was a scientist and a shipwright, yet her hands were white, slender and smooth, not a scar or callous in sight. He supposed it was thanks to her Devil Fruit. "How's the New World?" she asked no one in particular. "It's great. You guys should come." "No, thanks. West Blue's enough for us. And we expect things to get real interesting, real soon. In fact, you guys should stay here a while." Shanks stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

**I was going to conform to the RPG law of steering well away from established characters. Really, I was. But Shanks has no shame and neither have I. **


End file.
